


Caves & Tunnels

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Injury, M/M, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2020-08-19 01:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20201320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Usually when people interrupt the middle of his phone conversations, uninvited, Tim's just annoyed. However, when that person just happens to be an attractive stranger that also knows a thing or two about Lower Gotham's tunnel system, which he's very much interested in mapping, well, maybe Tim can forgive the rudeness. Assuming, of course, that the stranger agrees to be his guide. (And no, he doesn't believe any of the urban legends, thank you very much. It's just superstition.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This is for week 1 (Mythology) of the JayTim Month(ish) event going on over on Tumblr. This first chapter doesn't actually have super much to do with the prompt, but just go with it. More to come. XD Enjoy!
> 
> [You can find my Tumblr here!](http://skalidra.tumblr.com/)

"I'm sorry, you _what?_"

Tim blinks, lifting his head to look up at the stranger now standing over his table, a sort of narrow-eyed disbelief written all over his face. His very handsome face, even if it is all screwed up in that expression, which Tim really isn't sure what he did to deserve.

"Uh…" He shoves aside his appreciation of the man’s jaw, mentally replays the last few seconds of the conversation he was having, and then repeats more warily, "I'm going to map out the old Gotham tunnels?"

The man's face does a weird pinched thing, while in his ear, Conner makes a confused noise and says, _"Yeah, Tim, I heard you the first time."_

"Sorry,” he mutters, “not talking to you; someone asked what I said."

_“Ah, got it.” _He hears a clank somewhere in the background, then a slightly strained,_ “Who is it? Anyone you know?”_

Tim takes a glance up at the stranger, who’s lifted a hand to forehead, thumb and fingers pressing into his temples like he's trying to stave off some kind of a headache. It’s definitely not anyone he knows, but Tim eyes the expression on his face and — _wow_ — the breadth of his shoulders and makes a snap call.

"No. Can I call you back later?" Tim puts just enough of a _tone _in the words to make sure Conner gets it, and being his best friend, of course he does.

Conner snorts. _"Attractive stranger, huh? Yeah, alright. I’ll cross my fingers for you, city boy. Want me to say hi to the family for you?"_

"Yes, please. Thanks, Con; I’ll call you later."

_"Good luck."_

Tim hangs up the call via his earpiece and takes it out, dropping it to the table and refocusing on pained-stranger. Hand dropped now, staring at him again. He's very tall. Big, too, with short black hair and bright blue-green eyes. Brown leather jacket over his other arm, dark jeans, red shirt… He looks like he's about to get back on a motorcycle and peel off into the sunset.

(Tim takes a surreptitious glance out the window; there _is _a motorcycle parked out there, right near the door. Maybe he's not wrong.)

"Can I help you?" he finally asks, when the stranger just continues to look at him, jaw clenched tight.

"Are you _entirely _insane?" the man almost snaps, as if his question is permission. Then, a second later, he moves in a sudden jerk and drops down into the opposite side of the booth, elbows bracing on the table. "You're aware that the old tunnels are a complete maze, right?"

This really all seems like a bit of an overreaction. Also, this is not necessarily what he was expecting. But he can reprioritize, if the stranger wants to talk about the tunnels, he can talk about the tunnels.

"Yes? That's why they haven't been mapped yet. There are only partials, and it's really questionable how accurate those are. No one's managed a comprehensive map, yet."

"Because the entire place is a _death trap_. If you go in there, you're going to get lost, and you're going to starve. If the whole place doesn't cave in and bury you alive, and nothing else gets you first."

Tim squints back now, just a little offended. "I don't believe in urban legends, thank you very much. I'm sure homeless people and some criminals use the tunnels, but it’s not like there are monsters down there. Just people and rats and such, just like anywhere else. As long as I'm careful, nothing will happen. And frankly, you don't know nearly enough about me to make judgments like that."

"I don't need to know anything about you; I know the tunnels." The stranger leans forward, sincerity replacing the irritation in his expression. "Look, whatever your reasons are, however good you think you are, you don't want to go in there. Some things are better left alone."

Tim's been accused of selective hearing more than once in his life. Oh, he _hears_ all of what the man says, but the only part that matters to him is, "You know the tunnels?"

The stranger opens his mouth, then shuts it again, narrowing eyes at him suspiciously. "Yes?"

He leans forward onto the table, and the stranger leans back seemingly unconsciously. "How well?"

"Well enough to know you shouldn't go down there if you don't know your way around." Tim smiles, opens his mouth, and the stranger cuts him off with, "No. Absolutely not. Whatever stupid idea you’ve got in your head—”

"How much would it take?"

The stranger blinks. Stares at him. "What?"

Tim doesn't reach for his wallet, because as showy as it would be to thumb through he's not dumb enough to pay a stranger anything up front, but he does give his best business smile and clasp his hands together on the table. "You know the tunnels, and I want to learn them. How much would it take for you to work as my guide? Give me a number."

Sincerity has morphed into incredulity, but that's fine. He's aware he doesn't look, at first glance, like someone who knows what they're doing when it comes to mapping caves, or tunnels, or anything else. Doesn't matter to him. He's got a very nice letter at home from the Gotham Historical Society thanking him for mapping out the entirety of the caves under his neighbor's home, old Underground Railroad parts included, so he's not especially concerned with what random strangers think of his capabilities.

The man sits back against the seat, palms flat on the table as he studies him. "A thousand," he finally says, like that's a ridiculous number. "A day."

Tim offers him a hand. "Deal."

His eyes go wide. He sputters. "You—"

A groan as both hands lift, scrubbing over his face, back into his hair as he drops his head back against the high back of the booth. Tim waits, more or less patiently. His elbow's braced on the table; he can keep the hand up for a while.

"_Christ_, do you have absolutely no instinct for self-preservation? You don't even know me! I could—" His hands flail in some kind of indecipherable gesture. "I could be some kind of axe murderer, or— or—"

"You stopped at a random stranger's table to try and convince them not to do something dangerous," Tim points out, with a small shrug. "Doesn’t sound like an axe murderer to me. So? Do we have a deal? A thousand a day, and you'll help me map the old tunnels?"

The stranger lowers his head, staring at him with weary, exasperated eyes. “What if I say no?” he asks, and then frowns a little and exhales hard. The, “You’ll just do it yourself, right?” comes before Tim even has a chance to say anything.

But, yeah, that was going to be his answer.

He sort of feels like the scowl is a little unearned, but the man takes his hand. “You’re an idiot, and this is a dumb idea, but fine. You’ve got a deal.”

He smiles. “I’m Tim Drake.”

“Jason Todd.”

“Nice to meet you, Jason. Is tomorrow too soon for you?”

Jason lets go of his hand with a groan, slumping back against the seat. “Yeah, I regret this already.”

* * *

Tim shows up at the corner Jason suggested at seven AM, sunlight still weak and struggling to get through the marine layer lying heavy over the city. Anticipation has him wide awake, but Jason — already there waiting for him — looks like he didn’t sleep all that much. He’s got a paper cup of something between his palms, back leaned against the corner of the building. Something abandoned and slated for destruction; signs are up and everything. It’s not anything that Tim recognizes, and honestly he didn’t know there was a way into the tunnels from here.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, really; there are entrances to the old tunnels scattered all over the place, from what he’s read. Some old, from when they were actually built, and some newer and far more opportunistic in nature.

It’s not really his area of expertise, though. He might know every inch of the caves that stretch out underneath the land near him, and a bunch of far less local ones, but lower Gotham isn’t nearly as familiar. His business doesn’t usually take him down here, and this isn’t the entrance he would have picked to start exploring. Jason, however, apparently does know this part of the city, and since he’s the one that’s acting as a guide, it only makes sense to start from where he’s familiar.

The driver isn’t thrilled to be dropping him off in this neighborhood, but a smile and a twenty makes him go through with it without another word. The streets down here are quiet, a far cry from the jam-packed business-class rush in the heart of the city, and when Tim straightens out of the car there’s no one else in sight but Jason, who’s eyeing his transportation with clear judgment.

“Morning,” Tim offers, and gets a grunt and a flick of Jason’s gaze towards the strap of the backpack hanging from one shoulder.

“Morning.”

He doesn’t move, so Tim approaches, ignoring the sound of his ride pulling away from the curb. “You ready?”

He looks more or less ready. The same sturdy boots as he was wearing yesterday, leather jacket swapped for something more functional, jeans a more worn pair. It’s not that different from what Tim’s wearing, but his stuff is a little more designer, specifically built for this kind of work, not just ‘good enough.’

Jason’s furrowed brow gets a little more pronounced. “You’re really gonna go through with this?”

Tim hefts the backpack a little more securely over his shoulder, staring down the unhappy frown without letting it phase him. Either way, guide or no, he’s going in those tunnels.

“Sure, why not?” Jason mutters, with a heavy sigh. He drains the last of whatever’s in the cup, then pushes off the building and takes the two steps necessary to get him to the trash can at the corner. “Alright, few ground rules. First, you do what I say while we’re down there. Stay close, don’t do anything monumentally stupid, and follow my lead. Think you can do that?”

Probably not unreasonable demands, given the likely state of the tunnels. “No problem,” Tim says out loud, and fills in, ‘_within reason,_’ in his own head.

“Great. Money, then?” It’s accompanied by an outstretched hand, and beckoning fingers.

Tim eyes it, unimpressed, but lowers a hand to the pocket of his jacket. Jason frowns at the piece of paper dropped in his hand.

“It’s a check,” he explains, before Jason can ask, “dated a week from today. I have a friend that knows your name and that I’m doing this, and there’s a message saved to his voice mail explaining the entire thing. If I go missing, police know where to start, and cashing a check from a dead man tends to look pretty bad.” Tim gives his _very _best smile. “That’s not a problem, right?”

Jason stares at the folded check, and then snorts, shaking his head. When his gaze lifts back to Tim, he can see the newfound sharpness in it. It’s the exact same look other corporate executives get when they realize that he’s not actually an unprepared, naïve kid shoved too-soon into the role of CEO, all appearances aside. Grudging respect, and calculation.

“Okay, Timmy. Fair enough." He pockets the check. "What've you got in the bag?"

Tablet with the mapping software, charger and external battery, paper to do it manually (just in case), food, water… "What I need."

He might have brought extra, too, but that's just because he didn't trust Jason to show up with anything. He doesn't want to get dragged out of the tunnels for lunch just because his guide didn't think to bring any. It's a smart investment; time is money, after all.

The vague answer gets him a roll of eyes. “Alright, then. Let’s go, Timmy.”

“I’d really prefer if you just called me Tim,” he complains, following as Jason turns away and heads towards the side of the condemned building.

“And I’d prefer not to do this at all, but I’m definitely not getting what I want. Sometimes life’s just not fair.” Jason pauses by a window with broken boards only half covering it, and shoots a sharp grin over one shoulder with a few too many teeth. “_Timmy_.”

A hoist of arms and a bit of wiggling has him through the gap, extending an arm down to Tim.

He scowls, but takes it. "You can leave at any point," he says through his teeth, as he jumps slightly and lets the yank of Jason's arm support him getting far enough up to do the same. His backpack catches slightly on something, but a last wiggle frees it and sends him toppling over the sill.

Or, would, if Jason wasn't there to catch him, hands warm against his upper arms. Tim stares as Jason settles him back on his feet, realizing slowly that he's automatically grabbed Jason's arms in turn, and those are… those are some very big biceps his fingers are wrapped around. He's no slouch himself but he usually tries for endurance and cardio, not weight lifting. (He doesn't show muscle as well as some, either, though there was definitely a bit in high school where he tried to change that.) He's smaller, and lean, and he's okay with that. But also wow. Just how nice these arms are was maybe hidden by the shirt last night, and he kind of regrets not knowing till now.

"You good?" Jason asks, hands easing off their grip.

It hits home, suddenly, that he's all but groping his hired guide. He lets go immediately, stepping back. "Yeah," he manages, after clearing his throat. "Yeah, I'm fine."

There's a little flicker of something in Jason's gaze, but it's gone before Tim can puzzle it out. Gone, and Jason's turning away again to walk deeper into — Tim takes a quick glance around — the clearly sometimes-squatted-in home. "You know, if you're having problems with a window, maybe you should rethink this idea."

The last bits of embarrassment evaporate, and he glares at the big, broad back slipping through a half-open door ahead of him. "I've explored plenty of tunnels and caves; I just don't usually get to them by climbing through windows. Why? Is that something you've got practice in?"

When he comes through the door, Jason’s standing in front of a big fireplace, looking back at him with a crooked smirk. “Yeah, some. Here, this is it.”

Tim looks at the fireplace, and then back to Jason. "I think going up the chimney is the wrong direction, and you're definitely not going to fit."

With a snort, Jason drops down to a knee and reaches into the fireplace, curling a hand around the grate and hefting upwards. It comes up, and so does the whole bottom slab of the fireplace, which is… not a slab. It’s one thin layer of stone, over what looks like wood, when Jason props it up against one side of the mantel and he gets a look at it. What’s left behind is a dark, square hole vanishing somewhere underneath the house. Big enough for him, definitely. Probably for Jason too, though maybe a little tight.

What kind of a house has a secret entrance to the tunnel systems in their fireplace? Some kind of old Underground Railroad connection? Criminals needing somewhere to stash goods on short notice? Some kind of cult?

“That look better to you?” Jason asks, sarcasm sharp enough to make Tim frown automatically. “Not exactly like some cave, is it?”

Alright, he wants to do sarcasm? Tim can do sarcasm.

He forces the frown away, making sure there’s only idle observation to his tone when he answers, “No, tunnels are indeed, _usually _not like caves.” Jason’s smirk falters, and Tim smiles, feeding his second arm through the loop of the backpack and settling it more securely. “After you.”

Jason’s eyes roll, but he turns and grabs a small bag that was mostly hidden behind his feet, slinging it over a shoulder. And, in his other hand—

“Lanterns are a little old fashioned,” Tim points out, with an arch of his eyebrow. “You know we have these things called flashlights, now? Electricity is generally considered to be much more efficient than burning oil.”

“Uh huh.” Jason slides both feet into the hole, and there must be something to stand on, because he doesn’t fall. “And when that doesn’t work down there, you’ll thank me. Old tunnels have all kinds of things in the walls, Timmy; doesn’t always play nice with newer technology. Little difference between caves and tunnels.”

A wink, and a sharp grin, and Jason turns back and starts to climb down. By how he’s moving, it has to be a ladder, or at least something similar.

Tim approaches as his head vanishes into the dark, faint metallic clunks the only further hint of his progress. Even peering down into the tunnel, there’s not much more than a faint hint of his skin, light against the otherwise encroaching darkness. Not exactly the most inviting entrance, that’s for sure, but there’s no helping that. Sacrifices for the sake of progress, or something.

Carefully, extending one foot in first, he feels for whatever kind of footholds are there, and finds it after a second. Solid enough, when he tests his weight on it. It held Jason, and Jason’s probably another third of his size; should be fine.

A couple moments groping with his hands finds the top-most handle as well; grimy enough to make him wince, but he shoves the disgust aside and just grips tighter before beginning to climb down.

From below, there’s a quiet thud. Then a called, “The last couple feet are a jump. It’s not far, just watch your footing.”

Maybe he should have pulled the flashlight out first. Well, too late now.

The bottom’s not as far as the echo of Jason’s voice made it sound. His foot only hits air instead of another rung, and taking a breath, he bends his knees and drops down. It’s more jarring than he was expecting, but a hand closes on his shoulder and steadies him before he can even really wobble.

“Farther for you than me, I guess,” Jason says, from somewhere behind him. _Jesus _it’s dark down here; how is he seeing anything?

Tim shrugs off the touch of Jason’s hand, pulling his backpack far enough off that he can reach in and grab the handle of his flashlight, right at the top where he left it. His finger hesitates above the button for a moment, remembering what Jason said about electricity not always working. Then he presses it.

Light flares along the base of the tunnel, exposing stone bricks and packed dirt, reinforced with beams. Along the wall in front of him, where he climbed down, are metal rungs embedded in the stone. They end three or four feet up. Yeah, maybe easier when you’re another half-foot taller than he is.

He turns, sweeping the light around with him so he can see the rest of what he’s working with. More stone, dust, some moss here or there but no real water far as he can see, and—

“Ow!” Jason steps back, nearly hitting the opposite wall as he covers his face. “Hey, you mind not shining that right in my face?”

Tim stares. He could have sworn— He swallows, shakes his head and lowers the beam. “Yeah, sorry.”

He must have just been seeing things. Humans don’t have reflective eyes, so there’s no way he actually saw a pair of bright, shining eyes reflecting the flashlight back at him. It didn’t happen. Couldn’t have.

Jason lowers his hand, scowling slightly, but his eyes are normal. Just blue, shadowed by the darkness so they look close to black, but that’s all. Nothing weird.

“So now that you’ve blinded me,” Jason grumbles, blinking heavily, “what’s the plan?”

The words jar Tim back into action. He drops his backpack at his feet, kneeling down and fitting the flashlight’s handle between his teeth so he can pull out the tablet, and after a moment of consideration, the pad of backup paper, too. Maybe electricity really doesn’t always work down here, or maybe Jason’s just being superstitious and weird, but the tablet’s the easiest way, and he’s keeping it until it stops working. He’ll just copy things over to the paper, too, just in case. Better safe than sorry.

The backpack goes back over his shoulders, and the flashlight comes out from between his teeth. “Now, I map, and you tell me whatever I need to know about where I’m heading.”

Jason sighs, hands crossing over his chest. “Great. Sounds like a blast.”

“You’re the one that insisted I shouldn’t go down here without a guide.”

“Yeah, and then you somehow convinced me to come with you.” A shake of Jason’s head that he just sees out of the corner of his eye, and a low, “Most expensive babysitting job I’ve ever had.”

Tim doesn’t lift his head. “‘Somehow convinced me’ is an interesting way to say ‘you paid me to.’ But if that makes you feel better, go for it.”

“Just shut up and make your stupid map.”

* * *

Everything goes more or less fine, in spite of all Jason’s doom-and-glooming. The tunnels are more straightforward than he was expecting them to be, and even though there are some… weird things, it's nothing that causes any real problems.

The flashlight does perfectly fine, but the tablet does fritz in and out a few times. If Tim'd been relying solely on it he might have had a problem, but since he transcribed everything to paper as well, there's no real problem. Other than that, it's just… oddities. Some of the shadows look a little weird, but the architecture down there has some odd corners and decoration in some places so it was probably just the flashlight’s beam catching them strangely. Twice more he catches the flash of reflective eyes in the corner of his vision, but both times he looks they’re gone. Just Jason.

Tim’s not normally paranoid, but he also definitely usually doesn’t hallucinate. All in all, he’s pretty much trusted what he’s been able to see his whole life, so he’s not sure why he’s suddenly seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe… Maybe Jason’s just got contacts or something in and they’re catching the light weirdly. Or maybe there’s some kind of weird mold or something growing down here that’s got some hallucinogenic effects. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing to be found in a cave.

Jason doesn't exactly guide, but sometimes Tim will get pulled a different direction than he was planning on going, with nothing but a, "Not that way," as explanation. He tries to pry, but Jason doesn’t offer anything helpful.

Well, he paid Jason to guide. Maybe he’s better off not knowing exactly _why _Jason knows these tunnels, and more specifically, which ways not to go. Maybe better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Oddities aside, everything’s fine. His mapping’s off to a good start — he’s looking forward to pulling the details up when he gets home and figuring out how things line up with the buildings and streets aboveground — and Jason’s not bad company, all things considered. They talked some, when Jason apparently got tired of the silence, and more over lunch. (He did, actually, bring his own. Tim’s a little impressed.)

It’s late, when they finally get back out of the tunnels. The house is dark, silent, and once they’re outside, the sun’s pretty low. Tim checks his phone on automatic; near 5pm, not bad at all for a day’s work.

“See?” he can’t quite help teasing, cocking an eyebrow. “No starving or getting lost. Everything went fine.”

Jason rolls his eyes, shouldering his bag a bit more securely. “Sure. Nothing to do with me.” His other hand, a little blackened by whatever kind of grime was in the tunnels, brushes a bit of cobweb off his thigh. “You should head home, Timmy; gets dangerous down here after dark. Not safe for a rich boy like you.”

Tim’s annoyed by that, but only a little. Just reflexively, before his rational brain catches up and agrees that yes, probably best for him not to be down in lower Gotham past sunset. He’s aware enough to realize that he sticks out down here, and if crime statistics are to be believed, there’s more than a few people down here that wouldn’t hesitate trying to mug him.

He swipes over to the ride app, and from behind his shoulder, Jason snorts. “You’re going to have a hell of a time getting any of them to pick you up from down here. Come on, I’ll walk you a few blocks; it’s not too far to somewhere a little more decent, if you know the shortcuts.”

Jason brushes past him, off down the street, and after a second Tim follows. “So, it’s not safe for me to be down here, but you’re going to take me through ‘shortcuts’ to leave? Seems contradictory.”

He wasn’t going to say anything, but he’s a little grateful when Jason slows a touch, letting him draw even. Long legs. “Yeah, but I’m with you. You’ll be fine.” Jason glances down at him, then adds, “Just don’t try to do this on your own. And, maybe put away the phone, till we’re out.”

Okay, fair enough. Flashing expensive technology is maybe not the smartest, unless these ‘shortcuts’ are going to be through well-lit, crowded parks or something. Not likely.

He tucks it away, feeding his hands through the straps of the backpack just to grip something. Jason leads him across the street and into an alley, sunshine slants in, but most of the alley is covered in the shadow from the taller of the two buildings rising up on either side.

Out of that, across another deserted street and into a second one. Darker than the first.

He’s a little curious why Jason thinks that his presence is enough to stop anyone from attacking them. Sure, Jason’s pretty big, and he’s definitely in shape, but if someone’s got a knife or a gun, why would that stop them?

Unless Jason’s known down here, somehow. ‘Connections,’ or something. Something that would ensure that no one messes with him, or anyone else with him. Even a (okay, he admits it) soft-looking target like Tim.

He’s definitely curious, but not quite enough to ask. If Jason’s actually connected to some gang, or mob, he doesn’t really want to know.

Surprisingly soon — Jason really knows what he was talking about, apparently — the more dilapidated buildings turn suddenly into tall apartment buildings. Actual streetlights, entrances to underground garages. It’s not suburbia, but it’s a whole lot nicer than the last block they were on. Nice enough that he should be able to get a ride out, at least.

That thought’s confirmed when Jason says, “There you go. Should be good from here.”

He nods his thanks, moving to stand under one of the streetlights before he pulls his phone back out. Jason follows, leans up against the pole with his hands hooked in his pockets.

Sure enough, he gets the accepting buzz of an incoming ride just moments after he submits the request. Six minutes, give or take.

“So,” he starts, as soon as he’s put the phone away, “I have meetings tomorrow morning, but how does eleven-thirty sound?”

When Tim’s gaze lifts all the way, he finds Jason staring intently off into the shadowed alley they came from, eyes narrowed, one corner of his mouth lifted in a snarl. There’s the sharp point of a canine there, and—

“Jason?”

Jason blinks, snarl falling flat in a moment as he looks back down. “Hm?”

Tim stares for a moment. Then he pushes the sight out of his head and repeats, “Eleven-thirty? Tomorrow?”

He gets a snort, and a shake of Jason’s head. “Haven’t had enough adventure yet, huh?”

“I don’t know where you got the impression that I was doing this for adventure.” Tim shrugs. “Tunnels aren’t mapped, so I’m not done.”

Jason pushes off the pole, gaze flicking upwards as he shakes his head once more. “Okay, Timmy. Fine. Eleven-thirty it is.”

Tim smiles, maybe a little less sharply than he would have this morning. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Enjoy!

“You did _not_.”

Tim finishes marking the exit on his map — another grimy looking ladder with a small tunnel at the top, leading who knows where — and then looks up at Jason, “In my defense, I had no idea I was that close to the surface; there were some constructed parts already, but I figured it was just going to be some old underground safehouse.”

Jason’s grin is a wicked thing, eyes sharp in the dim light. “And you just walked into Wayne Manor? Just like that?”

“Well, people don’t tend to guard against secret entrances unless they know they’re there.” He gets up, absolutely doesn’t smile at the memory. That would be unprofessional. “I was planning to leave, but then he walked in on me, and… Well…”

“Walked in on you?”

“Standing in the corner of his drawing room, covered in dirt.”

"_No_."

"He was in his boxers."

Jason bursts out laughing. Tim can't help but smile.

He's not as much of a dick as Tim thought, really. Turns out, underneath the sarcastic annoyance and the rough exterior, Jason's a funny guy. It's a sharp kind of funny, but it falls in line with Tim's own preference for sarcasm and sass, rather than outright jokes. He's seen more and more of it over the course of the week, and a lot of other things that proved he was being more than a bit judgmental in his first assessment of Jason's character. Familiar with the rougher side of town, beaten up leather jacket, and asshole exterior put aside, Jason's… nice. Kind.

He reads the kind of old, classic literature that Tim never managed to sit through on his own, just for fun, and he's _smart_. Tim's well aware that people call him a genius, and he's never met something he couldn't puzzle out if it caught enough of his attention, but Jason's smart in a very different, more down to earth way. Fully proven by the first time Tim questioned his taste in books, and the resulting speech about it — social climates and literary analysis and metatext and _furthermore_ — had only been maybe halfway comprehensible to him. Completely out of the circle of things he knows pretty much anything about. It's enough to get him to shut up, anyway, and the following chilly silence gets him to apologize. Jason only holds it against him for a couple hours after that. Then, grudging and quiet, admits that it's far from the first time he's been judged by look.

That's the same conversation that lets him know that Jason's most of the way through getting a double major in English and Psychology, with a focus on education. Tim repays it by letting Jason know that technically, he dropped out of high school. _That _was a whole other conversation.

All in all, it's been a lot more fun than Tim expected. He figured Jason would just be a grudging guide and employee, not a… friend. Potential friend. Theoretical maybe-friend with possibility of maybe more than that. Not _more_, but… more. In a very physical sense.

(Connor's been harassing him about his progress with the 'attractive stranger' in every conversation they've had. And every time he says nothing's happened, his asshole of a best friend _sighs_ like it's the most disappointing thing he's heard all week.)

"So? Where to next?"

Tim blinks out of his thoughts and looks back down to the map, eyeing the lines to figure out the next unexplored area. This is a dead end, so…

Wait. They've been down here a long time, he thinks. Lunch came and went a while ago and he's got his phone set to an alarm so they don't stay down here too late, but they're farther from known exits than usual so maybe they should head back early. The last unexplored turn off was a ways back, anyway. By the time they get back to it, it'll probably be time to head out, more or less.

"Let's call it here for today," he says, glancing sideways as Jason steps over to hover behind his shoulder, peering down at the map himself. "The last turn-off was a while ago, and you told me not to go down it, anyway, so we should probably just head out."

Jason leans a little further over his shoulder, humming deep in his throat as he peers down at the map. Tim tries not to look too obviously at that throat, or the jaw right next to his face. He's pretty sure he succeeds. Mostly. But wow, that jaw. Just a tiny bit of scruff, and there's a faded little scar along the edge that's only just barely visible, maybe only an inch long. He kind of really wants to trace it with a thumb, but he is not a creep or an asshole and there will absolutely be no touching without consent.

He's just a… young, healthy, absolutely not straight male in the presence of a very attractive man. He may not be able to help his brain but he can keep his hands in check. Definitely.

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea."

Tim blinks, pulls his gaze off that scar. "What?"

Jason's looking at him. There's a little curve to his mouth that Tim's pretty sure is a smile, but confirming that would mean looking at his lips and that's probably not a good idea. It'd definitely get noticed if he did that, and he doesn't want to uh… jeopardize the work relationship, or…

"Calling it a day," Jason says. "That sounds like a good idea."

"Oh. Yeah, right. Good." That makes a lot more sense than Jason answering his internal narration. "Let me just…”

Jason steps back from him as he folds the map back up, tucking it back in his pack. "We should probably find a different entrance to start using, if you want to be a little more efficient about the time. You think you could join it up, if we found another one?"

He feeds his arms through the pack, hefts it up on his back. "Yeah, I should be able to. It's all coordinates, so as long as I can match those, I can tell us where we are.”

"Neat. I'll ask around a bit, then. See what I can find."

Tim falls into step next to Jason, as he starts to wander back the way they came. "You only know the one way down here?"

"No, I know a few. But most of them are on private property, and people don't tend to like it when you walk through their business and pry open a secret entrance to underground tunnels." Jason flashes him a small grin. "If they know about it, they'd rather you didn't. And if they don't, they definitely don't want you there."

The grin tugs on that little scar he's just noticed, stretching it a little further up across the jaw.

"How'd you even find them?" he asks, a little distractedly.

Jason shrugs. "Friends. Enemies. When you're in these neighborhoods on your own, it pays to have places to run to that no one else knows about. I came across the first one by accident, but after that… Well, I opened a few trapdoors and found out where they led to. And do I have something on my face?"

Tim startles, yanks his gaze up and finds Jason looking right at him, an eyebrow arched and eyes slightly narrowed. Shit.

"No." The eyebrow arches higher. "I mean, uh, yes. There's a scar?" He gestures vaguely at his own face, roughly where the little mark is. "Here-ish?"

Jason blinks. He looks almost taken aback, as he raises a hand, brushes a thumb right over where the scar is. "Oh. Yeah."

He shouldn't ask. He really shouldn't— "How'd you get it?"

Well there goes his mouth. But if it convinces Jason that his staring was about the scar and not what a nice angle his jaw makes, maybe it's worth looking like kind of a socially awkward idiot. People stare at oddities all the time, especially when they're on people's faces.

Jason shrugs, rubbing at it for a moment before dropping his hand. "I got punched. Guy had a ring, cut my jaw open when he hit me."

"Oh."

He's never really been in a fight, himself. He took some martial arts because his parents insisted, and a little more because of curiosity, but he's never gotten in a fight off of the mats. Never been in a position to. He wasn't a target of the bullies at Gotham Academy, the couple of years he actually went to it; something about him tended to make them avoid him.

"What was the fight about?" he presses, kind of genuinely curious now, not just searching for a distraction.

Jason's shoulders tighten, though, and Tim gets the sharp impression he's straying directions that he should leave alone. A thought backed up by Jason's somewhat short, "It wasn't a fight."

"Oh. Sorry."

The silence is uncomfortable, but luckily for Tim's nerves — and the guilt curdling in his stomach — it only lasts a handful of moments before Jason breathes out hard, almost snorting it through his nose.

"It was my dad," he says, head high and very distinctly not looking at Tim. "Shitty temper. Alcohol. Bad combination." He shrugs, looks over at the opposite wall to be even _more _not looking at him. "Whatever. He was a dick; it was a long time ago."

The immediate impulse is to say 'sorry' again, but he bites it back and thinks about it for a moment. It's a big admission. He should treat it like what it is.

Tim hesitates a second, steeling himself with a clear of his throat before he admits, "I know a little bit about not-so-great parents."

Now Jason glances at him, eyes narrowing just a little. "What do you mean?"

It's not something that he's really talked about with anyone but his therapist, but she's encouraged him to share before. Maybe the strange guy leading him around the abandoned tunnels, that he's a little painfully attracted to, isn't the kind of person she had in mind, but he's just going to pretend he doesn't know that.

"Well… Usually twelve year olds aren't wandering unmapped tunnel systems by themselves. They loved me, but…” It's an old kind of a sting, but it does still sting. Funny, how it didn't used to. Not till someone else pointed out that it wasn't supposed to be that way. "They had jobs, and hobbies, and they weren't the kinds of things you could take a kid along with. They were gone, most of the time."

It seems like Jason takes the same moment to consider his response as Tim did, before he says, "That sucks. Sorry." He coughs then, scuffs his foot along the ground on the next step. "I didn't mean to just like, drop that on you. My bad. I don't even really know you; sorry."

Yeah, fair point. "It's okay." Tim very studiously doesn't look at Jason when he follows it up with, "I'd like to think we're not just strangers, at this point?" Mostly because he's not sure he really wants to see the reaction if Jason disagrees with that.

Maybe they're not strangers, but they're not really friends either, necessarily. Jason's getting paid to be here, and he's contracting his services, and… Well, it's messy. From every angle. Not the least of which is his own head's fixation on pointing out all the nice aspects of Jason's physical self at every turn. (Which head, he doesn't want to examine too closely. They might be collaborating.)

But Jason says, "No, not just strangers." And when Tim glances to the side, there's a tiny flicker of a smile there, too.

Tim smiles back.

The flashlight flickers.

He shakes it with a frown, smacking the bottom to try to jar the batteries back into submission. It flicks on, and back out again. He curses quietly to himself, hitting it again. It won't stay on. He draws to a stop.

"Tim…”

"Hang on," he mutters. "Lemme try just…”

"_Tim_."

He looks up.

Jason's staring down the hallway in front of them, in the rapid flickering of the light. His jaw is tense, his shoulders raised. He's stopped mid-stride, one foot forward with his body angled off to the side. It strikes Tim, suddenly, as the same kind of posture that his limited martial arts classes used to teach. But that kind of fades in the face of the expression he has. He's… tense.

"What is it?" he asks, glancing down the path. He can't see anything, but the light's still going in and out and…

Something _moves_.

Tim locks up, staring at that piece of the wall. He can’t make it out, but there’s… there’s _something_. Something shadowy even with the flashlight’s intermittent light aimed right at it, low to the ground, shifting away from the wall where it suddenly looks so much bigger. And there are _eyes_—

“Tim!” Jason snaps, and he flinches, eyes wrenched away from that shape to Jason’s, right beside him. “I need you to listen to me, okay? You remember the ladder, at the end of this tunnel?”

He manages a nod, and a syllable that maybe is something like ‘yes,’ if it makes it past the clench of his throat.

Jason moves slowly, shifting the bag he’s carrying over until he can hand it to him. His fingers feel stiff and clumsy, but he takes it. “I want you to run to it, right now. Wait for me at the bottom, okay?”

Run to the ladder? Leave Jason here with whatever that is, in the dark, and—?

“But—”

“_Go!_”

At the shout whatever that thing is _growls_, deep and echoing, and the sound jars free some kind of instinctive terror in his chest that contributes more to the sudden burst of fight or flight than Jason’s order does. He spins and runs, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. He bounces off one of the walls, but manages to keep his balance.

From behind him there’s a deeper growl, a snarl that sounds distinctly canine but also _other_. _Wrong_. Like the biggest, nastiest breeds of dogs turned up to eleven. It shakes at his bones, tightens his chest and the only thing that his mind can focus on is to _flee_.

His backpack thuds against his lower back with every step, the bag in his hand smacking into his thigh. The tunnel ahead is lit only in flashes, like some nightmare rave except the only sounds are his own panicked gasps and the increasingly horrifying sounds echoing from behind him.

Growls, snarls from what sounds like two entirely different creatures. A _yelp_ that sounds just like a dog hit by a rock.

Oh god, oh _god_—

Suddenly the end of the tunnel’s right in front of him, and he hits it before he can stop, his arm scraping across the old stone. The sting barely registers, but the ladder’s right in front of his face and that comes in crystal clear; old black metal rungs and, when he looks up, the narrow tunnel with what he thinks is a cover, way up at the top.

His hand grabs the rung, flashlight awkwardly jammed between his fingers, before he remembers Jason. Jason, back there with— with—

He said to wait. He can’t just _leave _him back there with whatever that thing was. He has to do something, doesn’t he? There has to be something he _can _do, some way he can help.

Tim shines the light back down the tunnel, and realizes two things in rapid succession. The first is that the light is steady. The second is that it’s quiet. Terribly quiet.

He should go back. Jason could be hurt, or— or worse. It’s not like he knows how to fight some kind of shadow dog thing — it was just a big dog, though, right? It had to just be a big dog — but he knows first aid, and if it’s bad… Someone should know. Maybe he could run for help, or…

Movement.

He stiffens for a second, staring at that faint shadow at the edge of where the flashlight’s beam fades off into darkness, and then curls his other hand tighter around the top of Jason’s bag. He can at least hit something with it; it’s got that lantern Jason always insists on taking down here in it so it’s got some weight, and maybe that can stun the thing long enough he can climb the ladder. It can’t get him if he’s up there, right?

He’s staring so intently at the shadow that his eyes start to burn, and he has to blink, squeeze them shut a second to stop it. When he forces them open again, it’s Jason in the light, moving slowly toward him with an arm against his side, and—

He gasps, dropping the bag and jerking forward on automatic, as fast as his legs will take him. “Jason!”

His jacket’s gone, and the stain spreading out underneath the press of his arm is unquestionably a dark red. And when Tim gets closer, and he can make out more, he can see the brighter smears over both arms and across his neck. Lurid, bright red that makes Tim’s brain short-circuit as he stares at it.

It’s the sight of Jason’s other arm, and the torn, bloody flesh of what looks like an enormous _bite_ around the meat of it, that jars him out of it.

“Shit, _shit_, okay. I— Okay, you’re going to be okay. We’re going to get you to a hospital, and everything’s going to be fine.” He looks up. “You—”

Jason’s eyes are green. Bright, luminous green. Glowing. And… And his mouth is parted, panting softly but maybe it’s mostly open because all of his teeth are spaced a little apart, dully pointed with sharper looking canines, and— Canines. He has canines.

“Tim,” those teeth say, a little weird or maybe just winded. “I know this is really weird, but— but I need you to work with me, okay?”

Tim swallows. “Am I hallucinating?”

“No.”

“You have— Your teeth are pointed.”

“And I will tell you why, I— _Fuck_— I promise, but we need to _go_.” Tim drags his eyes away from the mouth, back up to the green eyes. They’re reflecting the light. Oh god he wasn’t seeing things before after all. “Tim, _snap _out of it!”

He jumps. Then sucks in a breath, yanks his gaze back up from where it was starting to drift back down to the thoroughly not-human teeth. "Okay. Okay, I uh… I'm here. I'm— I'm listening."

Okay, so Jason's… something else. Not human? Doesn't matter right now.

"The ladder. My bag. There should be a folded piece of paper in a pocket inside."

He hesitates, but the niggling idea that he should maybe help Jason over to the ladder first is one that he forces away. He goes, hurrying over and dropping down to pull the cinch-top of it apart. The first thing he sees is the lantern, and there are some other things jammed in next to it, but along one side is a zippered pocket, just as described. Inside that, a paper. It just looks like normal printer paper, but when he unfolds it there's some kind of black sigil drawn or maybe painted onto it. Weird and complicated and straight out of a bad TV show.

"That's it."

Tim flinches, head jerking up to find Jason's followed him over. One last hitching step puts him close enough to lean against the wall, head hanging low. He sounds winded, and his arm looks pale under the blood smeared on it. Tim's gaze still catches on the unnatural eyes for a moment, but then he gets distracted by the shine of sweat at his forehead. He looks… clammy. He looks _bad_.

"Climb up to the top of the ladder," Jason says, breathless, "and put it against the hatch. The symbol facing you. It'll—” He grunts, teeth pressing together and baring for a second. "_Fuck_. It'll stick by itself, don't worry."

He blurts, "I wasn't," before he thinks about it. "Is it going to…? What'll it do?"

Is it going to explode? Or melt the hatch?

Wait, is he…? Is he seriously assuming this is some kind of _magic? _It's not like that's real. It's—

"It'll get us out of here."

Tim looks again at Jason's teeth.

Yeah. Okay.

The ladder's not that long of a climb. Maybe the same length as the one they usually take down, but the rungs start lower so he doesn't have to jump to start. He gets the flashlight between his teeth when he realizes how slippery his hands are, craning his neck to aim the beam up so he can see the hatch, or cover, or whatever the hell it is. Wood, with slatted beams, but they're fit too closely together for him to see what might be on top of it.

He hooks an elbow over one rung for balance, unfolding the paper again and — after a second's hesitation because he feels just a little crazy even considering doing this — then shoving it up against the wood. There wasn't anything on the blank side, but somehow when he smooths a hand over it it sticks like there's glue slathered all over the back. The symbol stares down at him. It's not doing anything.

He grabs the flashlight out from between his teeth and calls, "What now?" down towards Jason.

"Come back down!"

That’s it? Shouldn’t there be something he has to do, or…? No, just… Jason said down.

Tim climbs back down.

“Alright,” Jason breathes, and Tim gets the impression that he’s talking to himself more than anyone else.

He turns his head, looks down the tunnel into the darkness. Tim barely resists turning to shine the light that way, but he does tense up a bit. Can he hear something that Tim can’t? Does he _sense _something, like he did before Tim ever saw whatever the hell attacked them?

His head jerks back around when Jason groans. He’s pushing off the wall, left leg nearly buckling before he grabs one of the rungs with both hands to stay on his feet. He’s not really going to…?

“Follow me up. Bring my bag, would you?”

He’s going to _climb?_

“There’s no way you can get up that,” Tim points out, his voice coming out weirdly high and sharp.

Jason snorts, and Tim can see his hands flex on the rung. “No other choice. I’ll manage.”

Somehow, he pulls himself up, gets a foot on the bottom rung and — with a pained grunt — reaches for the next one. Tim can only stare as he climbs, slow and clearly painfully, but still he’s going. He doesn’t jar into motion till Jason’s torso has vanished from view, with just his legs and boots still visible.

He grabs Jason’s bag from the ground, looking up to aim his flashlight past the bulk of Jason’s frame to illuminate the top of the exit. He can see just enough to watch Jason take the arm that was against his side and press the blood-covered hand against the paper.

It… It _glows_. Red, and yellow, and then somehow _black_ before it settles on the same bright red.

It’s just a trick, right? Some chemical reaction, or neat trick — hidden micro LEDs? — or something.

Or magic. _Magic_.

Jason leans into the ladder, breathing out hard and heavy enough Tim can hear it from the bottom, and knocks on the wood.

Nothing happens for about four seconds. Then the hatch opens. Bright light shines down, enough that Tim turns his flashlight off on automatic.

"Goodness _gracious_," a British, sort of vaguely familiar voice says.

"Hey, Alfie," Jason says, sounding intensely relieved. "Help me up?"

Whoever it is must do so, because Jason starts climbing again. Tim suddenly realizes that he should be going up, too, and jerks his hands up to start following. He really doesn't want to be down here alone, and whoever is up there, they have to be better than being trapped in this old tunnel with whatever that shadow thing is.

The rungs are wet. It takes a few moments for Tim to realize, with a harsh lurch of his stomach, that it's blood on the metal. Blood and grime and—

He shoves it out of his head and keeps climbing. He looks up when he gets to the top, and it's... His brain grinds to a halt. It's sideways. There's a room out there, but it's not angled like it should be, and there's an older composed man there in a suit standing _sideways _as if he's climbing in a horizontal tunnel instead, and—

"Ah, Master Timothy. You seem to have gotten yourself into rather a difficult situation once again, hm?"

That's Alfred. That's the foyer of Wayne Manor. What the _fu—?_

"I know; this is all rather strange to you, I'm sure." A hand extends, reaching _down _to him but just _out _for Mr. Wayne's butler. "Take my hand, dear boy. I'll help you through, and then we can get to the business of helping Master Jason, yes?"

Right. Jason, hurt and bleeding. That takes priority over… Not thinking about it. _Not thinking about it._

He takes Alfred's hand, and the butler pulls him up but also through as he climbs the last couple rungs and the whole world _shifts _with a nauseating twist. Suddenly he's all but falling into Alfred's arms in a very familiar room that has no business being above where they were. Or a completely different direction in the fabric of space than they were.

He twists his head around, looks at the familiar marbled flooring and the staircase and everything else he remembers from various galas as well as his mistaken visit when he was a kid. This is definitely Wayne Manor. Not that it makes any sense. Not that any of this makes _any sense_.

“I—? How am I…?”

"Ah, I see Master Jason has not yet told you anything of our world. Well, that is most certainly something we’ll have to rectify.”

“Master Jason…?” he echoes, and then everything else catches up and he whips his head around, staring. “_Your _world?”

Alfred reaches past him, and very calmly peels the blood-stained, glowing piece of paper off of the top of the hatch. Which is in the middle of the wall. _What?_

It abruptly slams shut, and then in the space of a startled blink and flinch it just isn’t there anymore. There’s just wall, and no hint of a logic-defying portal through space or anything else.

“There we are. Much improved, I’d say.” He steps back, and Tim stares in utter disbelief as he sinks to a knee and _picks Jason up off the ground_. He… How—? “Now, Master Jason needs tending to. You are more than welcome to accompany me, of course; I would be happy to answer your questions as I work, if you don’t mind the sight of injury.”

Tim stares at him.

This is so messed up. How does Jason know Alfred? How are they here? What was that thing that came after them in the tunnels? What is going _on?_

Alfred’s quiet smile is as calming as it was when he was twelve, covered in dirt and in the home of a man he was absolutely not supposed to be in. He feels a lot like that now, too.

When he turns to walk away, Tim follows.


End file.
